The air shifted beside Vona's ear, giving way to the precise swing of a sword. She ducked while raising her weapon. Blades struck. The force reverberated up her arms, but she gritted her teeth and parried. Darkness filled her vision, her breathing loud and labored in the courtyard. Only her senses could guide her, and of course, her magic. In water, she was unparalleled. In air, her weakest, she was a sitting duck.

Still, Yrsa of Chalimar insisted on testing this as if magic could be improved with practice. Vona huffed. Many a Conclave noviciate had tried. Each child, known as the untested, was born with the five elements—fire, earth, air, water, and darkness. Though magic could be replenished from its element, the size of the 'jar' deep within each individual couldn't be increased. So, when Vona stated air was her weakest, it truly was, and no amount of blindfolding could help improve its power.

A blade bounced off her knuckles. She cried out, leaping back while swinging her sword wild.

"Channel the pain," Yrsa commanded from Vona's left.

"You say that every cursed time, Yrsa. Injuring me only drains my magic." Vona focused on her hand, the tickling of blood as it trickled down her fingers, making the grip she had on the sword slippery. A warmth swept along her arm, honeyed sweetness that brought instant relief. High in earth and water, she could heal and replenish.

"Wasted magic," a man said, his deep voice bouncing off the stone walls—Uldane Tellalouise of Harvet, Head of the Conclave's military division known as the Sundowners, and dear friend to Mother and Father. Before the blindfold, Vona had admired the forest-green of his jerkin catching the sunlight streaming from the massive windows set high in the vaulted arches.

She tilted her head in his direction.

At the same time, Yrsa nudged her.

Having not expected it, Vona tumbled to the side. She halted her sprawl across the stone-carved floor. Glaring in the direction of Yrsa's voice, she held up the sword just in case.

"Talking to me is not helping, Uldane," she sang.

"No battle is without distractions, sweet one," he chuckled and snapped a scroll closed.

Yrsa remained silent. When she spoke to Vona, steel hardened her voice. "Focus. Recite the levels of magic and their purposes."

A blade cut through the air, forcing Vona to leap aside or lose a limb.

Uldane's steps led to the door to the inner house.

Yrsa muttered a curse.

Vona frowned. "What is it about Uldane that angers you so?"

"I am aware he is a friend to the Devenmeres, to your mother, but he is still Lord Sundowner and as such, has power over me."

"You are stronger than he, Yrsa."

Yrsa laughed. 'Tis good you think so." She tapped Vona on the shoulder with the blade. "Recite."

"Again?" Vona whined, thrusting more earth magic into her limbs. They'd been at this for hours. What she wouldn't do for a goblet of brandy.

"Again." Yrsa was a harsh taskmaster but one of the best Sundowners the Conclave had ever seen.

Striking with her shaved head, she towered over all in the Conclave's hallowed halls. Her muscles rippled with each movement revealed by the furs and armor she wore, that of her heritage from the east of Sagua, in the Osiree Mountains of Chalimar. On her right upper arm, inked into the skin by the magic of darkness, was the Sundowner mark. A griffin and a lion guarded a pentagonal shield. All recognized the symbol and feared the bearers.

"Fine. First are the untested, as of age seven. Their magic and natural power are assessed." Vona lunged, thrusting her sword forward then cursing when she met nothing.

"Second level are the guided, their primary magic identified." Swish, slash, and still, she hit air.

"Third are the noviciates, having mastered elementary spells." She ducked, grateful she'd done so when the air stirred above her head. Sure, she could heal minor wounds but a beheading? There was no coming back from that.

"Fourth are the surpassors, learning to focus their magic on noble pursuits in music, weaponry, or exploration." A tap of blade along blade had Vona spinning toward it. She grimaced, having not heard the woman move.

"Fifth level are the proficient, skilled in their chosen fields. Most do not venture past this level." Like myself. Gasping for breath, she willed the sweat droplets dripping off her chin to sink into her skin. Coolness swept over her, a trail of goosebumps in its wake.

"Level six?" Yrsa's voice hardened.

Vona instinctively leaped back and again, avoiding the swish-swish of another strike. "They're the sentinels, masters in their craft. They may choose to educate the lesser levels or make their mark across Sagua."

"Good." Yrsa grunted. High praise, indeed. Vona knew better than to let it go to her head. "What am I?"

"You, my dear tall one, are an envoy—a level seven assigned to guard a Conclave member. In this case, my mother." Vona lowered her sword, assuming they were done for the day. But the slap of the blade across her upper arm had her crying out. She lifted the sword again.

"Level eight? Why do you forget?"

"An empyrean is legend, Yrsa." Vona gritted her teeth while glaring through her blindfold. "There has not been someone at that magic level for centuries."

The older woman snorted. "Because 'tis legend does not mean 'tis forgotten."

The blindfold unraveled and flew across to Yrsa, who caught and slid it into a pocket. Vona blinked at her and pouted. She hadn't worked up a sweat while Vona wasted magic re-absorbing hers. As an envoy, Yrsa's inner well was massive, her magic extraordinary.

"Come, we have...more guests." Yrsa tilted her head, then scowled. "Bringing bad news."

Vona gave her a token smile. "Not every guest is—"

"I am a level seven in air, Vona. Piers natters like a simpleton, sharing news with each breath he spills." Yrsa stomped toward the foyer, crossing through marbled arches three-men high, her boots thudding along the stone floor. Vona hurried to keep up, tripling after the giant of a woman.

The great doors opened. Vona trailed Yrsa down the circular steps to the pebbled road. Clinking like the tinkerman he was, old Thack slid off his horse.

A skinny runt of a man with a swath of golden hair, Piers of Ruarden bobbed on his donkey. When it brayed and bucked, he clambered off, jangling the qitary in his hand. He juggled the musical instrument to rub his ass in purple, velvet, brocaded breeches. Even his boots had bells.

While waving parchment, Thack wheezed past Vona, offering her a dusty kiss on the cheek before disappearing into the estate's library—her mother's domain.

"I swear, either that donkey is losing weight or I am," Piers grumbled. Raising his deep blue gaze to Vona, he beamed. "Lovelier than the sunset across the Somerto Sea." He sniffed then sobbed into a red silk kerchief. "You've grown so much since we last saw you, my pet."

"Missed you too, Piers." She hugged him, then stepped back to hitch a thumb in the library's direction while he blew his nose.

"Do not glower at me, Yrsa the Great. 'Tis been a while since I last saw Ruvona. She is as breathtaking as the moon and stars, as the sky after a storm..."

Yrsa muttered when his face crumpled, "Do not start—"

He threw his arms around her and wailed. His qitary clanged across her back with each jarring breath he took. Instead of shoving him aside, she patted his shoulder and let him have this moment.

Vona danced around Yrsa to peek at Piers. "Is it bad news?"

"Aye," he sniffed.

Vona chewed on her lip while frowning. "My father—?"

"Best to ask your mother," Yrsa said, then with a gentle hip thrust, nudged Piers off her. "Come, to the library we go." She strode ahead, but a side glance didn't put Vona at ease. If Yrsa was worried, then so should she be.

Piers dabbed his eyes with a delicate touch, straightened his purple and gold jerkin then holstered his qitary to his back. He offered Vona his elbow. She accepted and allowed him to escort her to her mother, like a gentle maiden. Giving into his gallantry was far easier than arguing with him while dodging his hand. He was as stubborn as his donkey, Kit.

The library always took her breath away. Books lined the walls as high as the arches. Artifacts served as bookends. Stacks of rolled manuscripts filled shelves behind the great wooden desk dominating a handwoven circular rug from Isamölk. The rich gold, azure, and forest-green threads complimented the dark wood of the desk and shelves. Sconces with flickering flames lit the vast room. Not an inch of sunlight was allowed entry. The windows, visible from the outside, were covered with more bookshelves. Mother took her sentinelship seriously, spending weeks hunting a specific artifact or the lure of a magical fountain purported to expand inner wells.

The main topic at this year's Conclave moot was the search for the fabled manuscript, Whispers of the Lost Ones. Mother had obsessed over this adventure for the last ten years. She'd narrowed the possible locations to two, or so Vona had overheard.

A thump snapped Vona's gaze to Thack who was waving his arms as he paced, danced, and jumped up and down. His mouth opened and closed as he ranted, but no sound escaped him. He stamped his muddy boots, spraying dirt onto the rug and polished wooden floor, then paced in front of Mother. She didn't glance up from her work, her focus clear in her furrowed brow.

"Ailith, listen to the poor man." Uldane laughed. Under his arm, he'd tucked a few scrolls and balanced an open book on his palm.

With a sigh, Mother placed the quill into its inkpot and flicked her wrist at Thack.

"—in danger, and all you can do is shut me up. He is missing, I tell you. One night, we bid each other 'sweet dreams,' and in the morning, he was gone, taken from his bed. Not a peep I heard."

"Not a peep," Piers sang in a croaking voice. He was a self-appointed bard who couldn't sing, but none of them had the heart to tell him.

Thack's great barrel chest shuddered on an exhale. "I found Hayworth's study ransacked and this letter tucked in his favorite boot."

"How uncivilized to take him without shoes." Piers patted Vona's hand. "We came as fast as we could."

Mother snatched the letter, rising to run her gaze along the scrawled words. She pursed her lips as she studied the document she'd been working on. Uldane dropped the book and the scrolls onto the desk to read the letter over Mother's shoulder. He stiffened.

"What did Father say?" Vona tried to step away from Piers, but he drew her back.

"Some darkness has taken over Netherbury." Mother met her gaze, glanced between Yrsa, Piers, then settling on Thack. "I cannot leave, not now. Uldane and I are so close to— The Conclave is about to meet for the annual moot. Can you return to Devenmere, Thack?"

He nodded.

"Good." Mother handed the scroll to Uldane, veered around the desk and grasped Vona's hands, breaking Piers's hold on her. "You, my dear, must go in my stead. Head to the northern border and locate your brother." Her grip tightened. "We cannot wait for his weekly call. He will speak to Baron Gregory to ask for a leave of absence."

Her brother? Vona jerked back. "But—?"

"Uldane is with me, so Yrsa will guard you." Mother shook her head. "A girl alone is always an easy target."

Vona winced. Girl? Like she hadn't spent every morning in the last four years mastering her weaponry.

"Of course, Piers must accompany you." Mother flashed him a smile. "Without his gallantry, the trip would not be a success."

Grinning at Mother's blatant flattery, he dipped in a flourished bow, waving his hand wide and almost smacking Yrsa in the chest. Mother opened a drawer in a tallboy nearby and dug out two discs and a bag of gold. She dumped them on the desk, careful not to touch her documents.

After bleeding into the discs, she shoved them at Yrsa, who stepped forward to press her thumb to the needles. Vona froze, blinked, then gritted her teeth when her mother didn't ask her to bleed. This said it all. She was to journey to find her brother, but under the supervision and command of Yrsa. How her mother saw Vona was the same as her opinion of Piers—pointless.

"We leave within the hour." Yrsa shoved the disc in the back pocket of her breeches and grabbed the gold.

Without a word, Vona turned on a heel and marched to her chambers. She wasn't about to plead with her mother about this lack of trust or how sadness squeezed her heart. Perhaps on this journey she could prove herself?

"Oh, so now you return?" A voice came from her leather satchel. She ignored it. "Or do you plan to punish me some more? Huh?"

She undid the buckle. As soon as the satchel gaped, a gyro slipped out, rolled across the wooden floor then shot into the air. It twirled into a stop in front of her to shine a light into her eyes.

"Quit it, Orv. You are a distraction during training, and you know it. Not that Yrsa has ever harmed you, but you shy away from her and act as if every swing of her sword will kill me." Vona flopped onto her bed and threw an arm across her face. "Hell's teeth," she cried out, slapping the bed. Tears stung behind her eyes. She missed her father. Her mother was a ball of ice that only melted when Father was home. That had been months ago.

Vona was a disappointment. Her well wasn't more than a five at best. She would never be a sentinel like her brother, Jacut, who'd chosen to serve Baron Gregory of Kenningthain. Which meant she couldn't bring honor to the Devenmere name except through marriage. What family wanted a worthless level five? No, she would go on this quest and earn her honor, her place in this world.

"You seem upset? Did Fearless Yrsa best you again?"

Vona ground her teeth. Even her personal gyro revered Yrsa. How could Vona compete when the odds were against her? "Listen here, you worthless ball..." What could she say? He was an it, an inanimate object made lifelike through her frequent blood donations. A gift from her father when she was six, Orv was supposed to be her biggest champion and protector.

"Milady, we must pack." Mags hurried in, heading for the double doors of Vona's wardrobe.

"Why?" After casting a glare at her now-silent gyro, Vona fell back onto the bed. "I will go as is."

"Do not be silly, milady." Mags removed breeches, tunics, leather jerkins, a coat, a hat, pistols and their holsters. She draped a blue silk gown over the pile.

Vona kicked, dislodging the objects covering her shins. "Mags, we will not be traveling by wagon."

The serving girl pursed her lips. "The silk will crease in your saddle bags. Perhaps the linen gown instead?"

Vona shrugged then folded her arms behind her head to stare at the ceiling. "Whatever my horse can carry."

While Mags darted around the room, muttering and cursing, Vona ventured onto the balcony to watch the grooms saddle the horses and tend to Kit and Thack's warhorse, Baston.

Orv trailed her, and in privacy, it whispered, "So, what happened?"

"The usual." She didn't need to go into detail. The poor gyro had endured many a rant at the injustice of it all. Still, as she shared her attention between the grooms and Mags, she had to admit, her life was preferable to a level four or lower.

"Will you change before you depart, milady?" Mags held up a cream-colored tunic.

Vona frowned.

Mags tugged on the fabric of the tunic Vona was wearing. "Your sleeve is bloody."

Slumping, Vona tossed a glance at the horses then entered her chambers to whip off the tunic she wore. First, she slipped on her chest holster, tucking in the tiny pistol between her breasts. While she dressed, Mags tried to brush her hair. "Braid it, Mags," Vona snapped, then grimaced. "Sorry, it...has not been a good day."

Once again, she had failed to best Yrsa at weapons training and under Uldane's watch. No doubt, something her mother was more than aware of. Vona curled her lip. Perhaps it was time. At the age of twenty-two, she was old enough to no longer need her mother's approval. Still, it hurt. Each failure dug into her heart like the piercing of a dagger, twisted when her mother revealed her disappointment or said nothing. Releasing a long breath, Vona tapped her foot while she waited for Mags to finish braiding.

"Piers is at the door," Orv whispered a second before the knock.

"Come in, Piers," Vona called.

The door creaked open, then he popped his head around it. Seeing her standing there, he pushed the door wide to saunter in, his boots jingling. "You all right, my pet?" He cupped Vona's cheeks and held her still for a long perusal.

"I am, why do you ask?"

He smiled. "You know me, your personal empath."

Vona smothered a snort at that little bullshit. "I am well, Piers." She forced a smile. "Excited for our little adventure. When last did we travel anywhere together?"

He hummed. Releasing her to lean back, he folded his arms across his chest and gripped his chin. His thin mustache quivered like a golden caterpillar wiggling to escape. "I do believe it was on a trip to Devenmere when you were ten."

She pinched her lips, having not realized she hadn't left her home for twelve years. Her days had been filled with tutors and training. Father had been there for most of it. She'd spent afternoons in his company. His office, to the rear of Bennedor, their Lisbay estate, was filled with artifacts, weapons, and trinkets. If he needed a manuscript or book, he would visit the library.

"I hope Father is well, wherever he is, Piers." She blinked back tears, not wanting to appear weak.

Without saying a word, Piers yanked her into a crushing hug, then engulfed her in some sort of scent—a mixture of mint and sugar. She sniffed, pressed her temple to his shoulder, and let him hold her.

"You are packed, milady. Will there be anything more?" Mags wrung her hands.

Vona pulled away to glance at the satchels at the foot of the bed. Her dagger and pistols sat on top of the pile. "Thank you, Mags."

"I shall send a groom to collect your things." She dipped into a curtsey and darted out, leaving the door gaping.

Piers bent to catch Vona's gaze. "Meet you downstairs?"

He left before she could respond. Alone, she added bags of gold to the satchels, preferring to be prepared for the worst scenario. After a deep pull, in went her favorite flask holding Brederburg brandy, the finest this side of the northern wall. The smoky flavor coated her tongue then set her throat and innards on fire.

"Orv," she called.

The gyro shot up from behind a velvet arm chair in the corner of the room. "Aye, milady?"

"Ready for an adventure?" She chuckled when it bobbed. "Come on, then." Marching through the door, she skipped and danced down the stairs. Even though she would be under Yrsa's thumb, she was away from her mother's vigilance and disapproving stare.

The horses and donkey were waiting, fed, brushed down, and re-saddled.

"Should we not let them rest?" she asked while stroking Kit's beard.

"Sir Thack stated 'twas not necessary. Said they spent the night in Lisbay."

She flicked a glance at Bent, Mag's brother. "Here I thought Thack and Piers had slept on rocky ground and suffered all manner of hardships."

Bent chuckled. "Perhaps on lumpy beds? Those can do a person's back some harm."

"With plump partners, no doubt." She grinned.

"A lady does not banter," Mother bit out, sashaying down the circular steps, her arm looped through Uldane's. Resplendent in a ruby-red gown, her hair pinned up, she had never looked more beautiful.

Vona dipped her head but not before smirking at Bent. He wisely sidled away.

Mother snagged Vona's hands and steered her around. "Now, take care, my girl. Do as Yrsa instructs."

Uldane broke Mother's hold on Vona. "You are acting as if Vona is unskilled and unguarded, Ailith. Trust that you have raised her well." He glanced over his shoulder at Yrsa marching toward them. "If you have further instructions, now is the time." When Mother hurried away, he grabbed Vona's shoulders, holding her in place. "Enjoy this adventure, my dear. Find your voice and inner strength." His green eyes narrowed. "I pray you find what completes your soul." He brushed a curl off her temple, then gripped and released her chin.

What an odd thing to say. It had an old-world feel so she smiled her thanks and let him draw her into a stiff hug. "You keep Mother safe, Uldane," she commanded, her voice smothered by the fabric of his jerkin.

"For as long as I am able." He helped her mount her horse, Honey.

Thack clanked as he hoisted himself on his warhorse. Piers, however, needed two stable hands to climb onto Kit, his qitary strapped to his back, his boots jingling when he forced his toes into the stirrups. He was huffing by the time he held the reins.

Yrsa's glower couldn't dampen Vona's spirits when they finally set off.